She sat up and spotted her nightgown on the floor across the room, lying right where Joe had tossed it.
Joe. How would he act toward her this morning? He was usually so lighthearted and playful—never taking things too seriously. Maybe some of his attitude was rubbing off on her because she didn’t much feel like taking any of this seriously, either.
If she did, it might hurt too much when it was all over.
She crossed the hall to her bedroom, her steps faltering. Maybe there was plenty to regret. They’d made love without protection last night. And while it was a fairly safe time of the month, accidental pregnancies occurred.
While she showered and shampooed her hair, she tried to shake off the remote possibility—and the fact that she’d been reckless again last night. Not that she regretted what she’d shared with Joe. That part had been amazing. But she should have considered using a contraceptive.
After drying off with a fluffy towel, she slipped on a pair of jeans and a white blouse. She topped it off with the only Christmasy thing she could find—a red sweater. By the time she entered the kitchen, Joe already had the coffee made. He stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl. A steaming cup of java rested within his reach.
She smiled to herself as she thought of the appetite he must’ve worked up last night.
“Good morning,” she said, the softness in her voice revealing more vulnerability than she’d had when she woke this morning.
“Hey, you’re up. Good. Breakfast is almost ready.”
She told herself not to look too deeply into his eyes for hidden messages. But maybe she shouldn’t bother. Reading men didn’t seem to be her forte. At least, not in the past. So she decided to just go along with the flow.
“I see you’re cooking again,” she said.
“It’s the least I can do after keeping you up so late last night.”
A blush warmed her cheeks, and while she headed for the coffeepot, she avoided eye contact. She reached into the cupboard and removed a mug. Then she filled it with the fresh morning brew, adding a splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar.
“Just for the record, I didn’t mind waking up in the middle of the night.” She smiled, then lifted her cup and took a sip.
Their brief morning-after banter was cut off by a rapping on the back door.
It was Tomas standing on the porch, his hat off, his brow furrowed, his expression laden with worry. “Hurry, Miss Chloe. It’s Lola. She’s going to foal, but something’s wrong.”
“Did you call the vet?” Chloe asked, her mug quickly forgotten on the counter.
“Yes, but Dr. Peterson’s answering service said he was on vacation. Another doctor is handling his patients while he’s gone. They gave me his number.”
Chloe followed the foreman to the barn, Joe close on their heels.
“Were they going to contact the other vet?” she asked. “Or should we do that?’’
“He’s just down the road at the Beecham ranch. The woman at the answering service said she would call him on his cell, but the reception isn’t very good there. Maybe I should just drive over and get him myself. It’ll be faster.”
Poor Tomas. Chloe’s heart went out to him. He was a good man and a hard worker, but he hadn’t wanted the foreman position. He was good with the animals, though. And he was obviously worried about the mare he’d been babying for her entire pregnancy.
“Okay,” Chloe said, “you go get the doctor. I’ll stay out here with Lola and try to keep her calm.”
Tomas nodded, then hurried from the barn, presumably to his own truck, which was more reliable than Ol’ Greenie.
“You okay?” Joe asked.
Chloe hoped her own worry wasn’t reflected in her eyes because Joe looked concerned enough for both of them. One thing she’d learned early on in her work with patients was to keep the family members calm.
“Yes, I’m fine. The Beecham ranch is only about ten minutes from here, so the vet should be here soon enough.”
“Do you have much experience with horses and breech births?”
“Honestly, I don’t have much practice with any type of births. Horse, breech or otherwise. I’ve always specialized in geriatric care. Not too many labors happen at the Sheltering Arms.”
Joe stepped away from Lola and placed a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Relax. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”
All the stress that Chloe should have been dealing with this morning as she lounged around in his bed rushed into her heart, and reality grew as big as Lola’s belly.
“But what if Lola isn’t all right? She’s our prize mare. That foal she’s carrying is worth thousands. We bred her with Night Wind, a stud from Houston who’s sired plenty of prize cutting horses. The Rocking C has a lot riding on this birth being a healthy one.”
“What happens to the ranch if Lola can’t pay her way?”
“The whole place could go under.” She blew out a ragged sigh, revealing the truth she struggled with each day. “I’ve tried my best to run things since Teresa died, but I’m a nurse, not a rancher. Now that Dave’s gone, who knows what will happen to the place?”
And more worrisome of all, who knew what would happen to Chloe?
Chapter Ten
So the Rocking C was in limbo.
Joe suspected that Chloe wasn’t only concerned with the bottom line or the ranch’s finances. From the sound of things, he sensed that she was also concerned about herself. What would happen to her if she had to move?
He knew she wasn’t selfish. Didn’t he? At least, nothing she’d done up until now would make him think so. In fact, it was just the opposite. Yet something nagged at him, something he couldn’t put his finger on.
It was probably a side effect of the amnesia.
“So what would you do if you could stay on the ranch?” He’d meant the question to distract her from worry. At least, that’s what he told himself. But had he been fishing for ulterior motives?
And if so, why?
His question seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then she said, “I don’t know. I’ve had a few ideas. But like I said, I’m not really a rancher, I’m a nurse. There aren’t too many jobs that would incorporate the two.”
“Tell me some of them.”
She bit her bottom lip, but before she could answer, a pickup drove into the yard and parked.
“Oh, good,” she said, her voice light as she shook off his question altogether and strode toward the black Dodge Ram. “That must be the vet.”
Joe watched a dark-haired man slide out of the driver’s seat. The moment the vet looked up, his blue eyes zeroed in on Joe, and recognition dawned on him like the noonday sun.
Joe had a feeling he knew the guy, too. It wasn’t a flashback coming to him in the same way one struck him out by the swimming hole. This was different.
Maybe it was the blue eyes, the dark hair and the olive complexion, because the vet was as familiar to Joe as the face he saw in the mirror each morning.
“Oh, my God,” the vet said. “Joey? Is that you?”
Joe wasn’t sure what to say. Nor did he know how much he wanted to divulge about who he thought he was or what his circumstances were. But Joe wanted answers more than anonymity.
As the vet eased closer, Joe said, “Yeah.”
“It’s me,” the vet said. “Rick.”
Joe was almost too stunned to speak. Had he recognized the guy because he’d actually known him in the past? Or because of their resemblance and the fact that Rick the vet had called him Joey?
“Do you know Joe Wilcox?” Chloe asked the vet.
He had to, Joe thought. They looked similar enough to be brothers.
Brothers? The moment the word crossed his mind, a flicker exploded in his brain, illuminating a couple of the
dark corners that had been hidden.
This guy—or rather, Rick—had been a part of Joe’s life at one time. But he’d be damned if he knew any more than that.
“I’ve been looking for you for almost ten years.” Rick started to reach out toward Joe, possibly to pull him in for a brotherly hug. But then his movements stalled, as if he thought better of it. He ran a hand through his hair instead and slowly shook his head. “Have you been on the Cummings ranch all this time? I never realized you and Dave were so tight.”
Chloe coughed discreetly, and Rick glanced her way as if he’d forgotten she was standing there, watching the awkward, one-sided reunion.
“I’m sorry.” Rick reached out to shake the extended hand Chloe offered. “I’m Rick Martinez, and I haven’t seen my brother since we were teenagers.”
Joe couldn’t do much more than stand there, staring at the man who looked just like him and claimed to be his long lost brother. This amnesia crap was getting to be too damn much for him.
“But Joe’s last name is Wilcox,” Chloe said, looking only slightly less confused than Joe felt.
Rick turned to Joe, his brow furrowed, his head cocked slightly. “What’d you do? Change your name? Maybe that’s why Clay Jenkins couldn’t find you.”
Clay Jenkins. The computer guru? Joe had been right. He really had recognized the billionaire’s photo—and not necessarily because he’d seen his face in magazines or newspapers or online.
But those few little dots were the only ones his brain would let him connect.
Damn. Joe hated not having an answer to questions like that. And he was sick and tired of repeating the same mantra time and time again. But he didn’t have any truthful options. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
The furrow in Rick’s brow deepened, and Chloe jumped to the rescue once again. “Joe was hit by a car outside the Stagecoach Inn and suffered a head injury. He has amnesia, so we’re not exactly sure who he is.”
Before Rick could respond, Tomas jogged out of the barn and interrupted. “Doctor, please. Lola is this way. She needs you.”
“Of course.” Rick squared his shoulders and grabbed a case out of the back of his truck before following Tomas into the stable.
Joe watched his brother walk away. He might have stood there gaping like an idiot, but Chloe elbowed him to get his attention.
When he glanced down at the petite blonde’s upturned face, she arched a single brow and nodded toward the barn. “Do you remember him?”
“I...I don’t know. I mean, he looks just like me. And even though we have different names, there definitely seemed to be something there when I saw him. Not necessarily an immediate fraternal bond, but something.”
Chloe hesitated for a minute. “Let’s go into the barn. Maybe seeing Dr. Martinez in action or spending some more time with him will trigger another memory.”
Joe followed her, feeling like a lost little child who needed direction.
Up until this point, he hadn’t let the amnesia render him helpless, and he wasn’t about to start now. This was his first major opportunity to learn more about himself. And he needed to face it head on.
When they reached Lola’s stall, Rick was already examining the mare. “You were right, Tomas. The foal is breech.”
Lola whinnied, and Rick stroked her neck and made soft shushing sounds. “It’s okay, mama. It’s okay.”
Joe could almost believe him. Maybe things would soon be “okay” with him, too.
* * *
Joe hung out in the barn until Lola had dropped a healthy foal—a filly. Then he’d gone to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He figured Rick would want to talk to him, and it seemed like a better idea to do it while seated at the kitchen table and not out in the driveway.
The pot had just stopped percolating when Rick entered the kitchen from the mudroom.
“How’s Lola doing?” Joe asked.
“Happy to have it all over, I’m sure. But she and her foal are bonding, so that’s good. Tomas and Chloe are with her now.”
“How about some coffee?” he asked.
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
As Joe poured two cups of the fresh brew, he said, “So, you’re my brother.”
“It’s been ten years, and you’ve grown up—and filled out. But I believe you are—unless you’re an amazing lookalike.”
“You believe it—or you know it? I mean, if you haven’t seen me since I was sixteen, how can you be sure?”
The vet hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and studied him quietly—and not at all defensive that Joe was calling him out to prove his claim.
“You have a three-inch scar on your right arm,” Rick said. “A burn mark you got when you were eight. Tío Ramon, our uncle, came home, cocked and ready for a fight. When Tía Rosa didn’t get dinner on the table fast enough, he grabbed the frying pan off the stove. It had hot oil in it because she was getting ready to fry corn tortillas, but Ramon didn’t give that a second thought. He threw it at her, and you jumped in front of her to protect her and got hit instead.”
Joe closed his eyes, the truth setting in, even if the memory hadn’t surfaced. Then he rolled up his right sleeve and showed Rick the raised scar...
As Rick reached out and fingered the scar, another vision flashed in Joe’s brain, this one involving a ten-year-old boy, a younger version of Rick, rubbing ice along the same strip of singed flesh on a smaller arm—Joe’s arm?—and saying, You’ll be okay. But stay out of Tío’s way next time he comes home drunk. You and me gotta stick together.
“So,” Rick said, intruding on Joe’s flashback, “you joined the Marines. That would make sense. You were always trying to protect people—Tía Rosa, kids being bullied at school.”
“You told me that the two of us had to stick together,” Joe said, but not accusingly. He was just sharing a memory.
“I tried, Joey. I really did.”
Maybe so, but they’d obviously had some kind of falling out. Otherwise, Joe would have given Rick’s name and address as a contact number.
“So what happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t we stay together?”
“After they arrested Tío Ramon and protective services got involved, we were sent to different foster homes. Then, about the time I turned eighteen, Mallory got pregnant, her grandparents sent her out of state and my life spiraled out of control for a while. You ran away and it was damn near impossible to find you—even with the help of a private investigator and a computer whiz.”
“Who’s Mallory?” Joe had no more than asked the question when Chloe entered the kitchen, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, clearly worn out from the ordeal with Lola—and most likely, their own late night.
Rick glanced at her as though he wasn’t sure how to answer any personal questions in front of a nonfamily member, then returned his focus on Joe.
But hell, Joe wasn’t sure he wanted her to know all the details, either. It sounded as if they’d had a pretty crappy life. And from what Chloe had told him, her childhood had been picture-perfect.
Besides that, he had this inexplicable urge to keep some stuff private—between him and his brother.
Sure, Chloe had taken excellent care of him after the accident. He’d been completely dependent upon her and, after last night, their relationship had only gotten stronger.
So why did he feel the need to hide things from her? And why did he question whether he could fully trust her?
Judging by the questioning look Rick was directing at him, Joe didn’t think his brother trusted her much, either. But when Joe didn’t object, he said, “Mallory is my wife now. But back in high school, she was my girlfriend. She got pregnant, and...well, things got pretty complicated. Let’s just say that I had a lot on my plate back then and was too young to do much about anythin
g.”
“You mentioned Clay Jenkins had been looking for me, too. Do I know him?”
“You, Clay and I ran around together in high school. He has a computer business now. And after I got my DVM degree and was in a position to find you and take care of you, I started looking for you. When I continued to run into walls, probably because of your name change, I finally called him and asked for his help.”
“So I’m from Brighton Valley originally?”
“Wow, you really don’t remember much of anything.” Rick turned to Chloe, directing the question at her. “How long has he been like this?”
Joe bristled. It was almost as if Rick thought Joe was too simpleminded to answer for himself.
“Nearly a week.” Chloe looked at Joe as if wanting to get his permission to continue.
He nodded, and she went on to tell Rick about the accident and everything else they’d found out from NCIS since then. But Joe tuned them out, as another flashback popped into his mind, one of a teenage Rick telling Joe he needed to get a hold of his temper. Don’t be such a hard-ass, Joey. If you get sent to juvie, I can’t take care of you there.
Joe was so absorbed in his own thoughts and flickering memories, he almost didn’t catch the fact that Chloe hadn’t mentioned Dave or his letter.
“So what were you doing in town in the first place?” Rick asked him. “Do you remember that?”
“No, they tell me that I had a letter from Dave Cummings in my pocket when they found me. According to military records, I served with him in the Marine Corps before we both got medically discharged.”
Joe told Rick about Dave’s death and hoped his brother didn’t ask what was in the dying man’s last letter. Because the truth was, Joe had no idea himself, since that was another thing that Chloe had yet to tell him.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t completely trust her.
Rick’s cell phone rang, and Joe wanted to throw the offending object into the yard. Didn’t the answering service realize that the vet had just found his long lost brother, and they had years to catch up on?
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 34
